


Departed

by Mattecat



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Afterlife, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 16:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17532665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mattecat/pseuds/Mattecat
Summary: Morro in the Departed Realm.





	Departed

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is an absolute mess but here it is. it's not happy. sorry in advance.

The Departed Realm was quiet.

Morro was lying on his side on a flat surface. When he pressed his hand to it, it felt fuzzy, static pricking at his fingers. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, but he still couldn't see anything. All darkness. Nothing. Not even the hand in front of his face, not even the hallucinations the brain conjured when one was in true darkness, with no light to interpret into vision.

Nothing.

Except for him.

It was a disappointment, honestly. Morro was done with existence. He had already been dead for fifty years; why was he still around? He groaned and let himself fall back on the ground, lying on his back and staring at unrelenting nothingness. What was there left for him?

A prick of amusement – maybe he was being punished. He said there was nothing left for him? Then he would get nothing! He would lie there for eternity and reflect upon his wrongs, and that was all there would ever be.

He laughed.

A voice answered.

"Morro?"

He stiffened. Sitting up, he could see something in the distance, a faint shape, as if his eyes were getting used to the darkness. "Who's there?" he demanded. "Who are you?"

"Morro…"

A figure. A woman. Morro could make out her silhouette – not distinct enough to really determine her gender, but Morro _felt_ it, somehow, like he was absorbing fragments of knowledge about her identity. Was that how she knew his name? What was her name, then?

He stands up. The woman steps closer. "Morro," she said. "Is that you?"

The word tumbled out of Morro's mouth.

"Mom?"

She put a hand on his face, brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. Morro couldn't speak, could only stand there with his mouth open. Her hand felt warm, like it was made of flesh and blood. She wasn't glowing green. She had black hair that fell to her shoulders, cut neater than Morro's own, with a blue streak through her bangs. She was dressed in a ragged dress, messy stitches keeping it together. He remembered those hands, that thumb pressed against his cheek, her fingers holding the needle and sewing up holes in his clothes. The memories are faded, but like eyes growing accustomed to the darkness, he can make them out clearer than he could in life.

"Mom," he croaked, and fell into her arms.

He shouldn't need it, he thought. He should leave, run like he did when he was a child. But he did need it, needed the hug his mother gave him, needed to sob into her shoulder. He lost everything when he ran from home, lost everything when he died, and he lost it all again when the Preeminent was drowned – and yet, dead and in the Departed Realm, he had his mother.

"Morro," his mother said, once his sobs subsided. "It's a lovely name. How did you choose it?"

" _El Morro,_ " he mumbled. "The – the hill I would go to, over the waterfall. I thought… it was the only place I could be myself."

"I remember. I found you there, once. You were so mad at me when I told you to come home."

Tears were still falling down his face. The water didn't hurt. "I shouldn't have left," he choked out. "I – I died, Mom, and – oh God, it hurt so much, and – the Preeminent, she – she –"

She hugged him tighter. "I've been waiting so long for you, Morro," she said. "It's time to come home, _mi niño._ "

Morro nodded, and let his mother lead him out of the darkness.

* * *

The house looked like it came out of a child's drawing. It had a door, two windows, and a triangle roof, and it stood in the middle of a vast meadow. Morro followed the path with his mother, the grass standing rising over his head, the sunlight giving everything a warm glow. He almost felt alive – like his mother, he wasn't a translucent green ghost. His hands were solid. His body had weight. He was dead, certainly, but the Departed Realm, for its surreal, dreamlike quality, mimicked the living world in a way the Cursed Realm did not.

His mother opened the door and turned back to smile at him. "Come," she said. "This is your home now."

There was only one room. The only furniture was a mattress of dried grass, and the only other contents of the room were rudimentary cooking tools. "I'm sorry," his mother said. "I didn't know you would be here now – you can help me make your bed when you are ready.

"How did you know I was here?" Morro asked.

"I felt – a call, a cry. Not yours, no, perhaps the realm telling me you were here, and you needed me." She frowned at the mattress. "You may have this for the time being. I will sleep on the floor, if I must."

Morro tilted his head. "Do we still need to sleep? We're dead."

"It is not necessary, no. I find it pleasant. I imagine you would as well."

"Ghosts don't sleep," he said. "I've grown used to it."

"You were a ghost," his mother said slowly. "I'm so sorry, Morro. That must have been horrible."

Morro blinked. "You didn't know?" he said.

"Oh, no, _mi niño._ Come here."

He moved to her side and stood there awkwardly, shifting his weight side to side. His mother hugged him. Morro wasn't sure what to say, if anything.

"I know both life and death have been hard for you," she said. "I know you have suffered more pain than you ever deserved. But I don't know what happened, after you ran from home. I will not ask you to tell me. I know how hard it would be to relive such painful memories."

Even the idea of talking about them – Morro shuddered. "Not now," he said. "I can't – not now."

"You don't have to, dear. Let's gather the grass for your bed."

* * *

It didn't take long to cut the grass. Morro took the knife his mother gave him and tried to cut a large swathe of it at once, but she stopped him, instructing him to take only a little at a time from the edges of the path. "It'll look nicer that way," she said.

Once the grass was cut, she showed him how to tie the stalks. Memories drifted to the forefront of his mind, the bed he slept on when he was a child. They were made like this, weren't they? Piles of grass tied together.

The bed was just as uncomfortable as the bed of his childhood. "I don't think I can sleep on this," he said.

His mother laughed. "You didn't mind it so much before!"

"Yeah, well, I got a real bed to sleep on, after I left." He thought of Wu and sadness pierced him, sharp enough to make him wince. "Whatever," he said. "This is fine."

There was a knock on the door. Morro stiffened. "Who's –"

"Perhaps it is your father," his mother said calmly. "He left some time ago, but maybe he felt you arrive like I did. Wait here. I will answer."

Morro sat on his bed and watched his mother stand up and answer the door. "Oh," she said. "Who are you?"

The response flooded him with fear.

"I'm sorry to bother – my name is Garmadon. May I come in?"

"No!" Morro blurted out. His mother turned back to look at him, her eyes filled with concern.

Garmadon took the opportunity to step inside. "This is a cozy place," he said, looking around. He was wearing Lloyd's hoodie, Morro realized. "I'm sorry to intrude like this… is that your son?"

"Yes." Morro's mother frowned. "My name is Rosenda. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Rosenda, hm?" He smiled.  "You wouldn't know me. The Wind family went into hiding when my brother and I were children. My name is Garmadon, and I'd like to have some words with Morro, here."

Morro backed up until he was pressed against the wall. "Go away!" he snapped. "Leave me alone!"

"Morro, do you know him?" his mother asked. "Should I ask him to leave?"

"Yes! I don't want him here!"

Garmadon chuckled. "You can't run from your past forever," he said. "We're both dead, now. We have a long, long time to work things out, don't we, Morro?"

"You need to go," Rosenda said. "Please do not make me use force."

"Very well." Garmadon shrugged and goes to the door. "I'll be in the area, Morro."

He leaves. Rosenda closes the door and locks it. Morro hadn't even noticed there was a lock.

He curled up on the bed and hugged his knees to his chest. He didn't move as Rosenda sat down next to him and started to rub his back. "Morro, who was that?" she asked.

"He told you his name," he mumbled.

"That's not a real answer, dear. How do you know him? He certainly knew you."

"I don't want to talk about it."

Rosenda didn't respond, just rubbed his back in silence. Eventually, Morro spoke again.

"I hurt his son," he said. "And… I did a lot of other things, too. I wasn't a good kid, Mom."

"You were a child," Rosenda said. "More than that, you are my child. What could you ever do that I wouldn't forgive?"

Morro sniffed and curled up tighter. "You weren't even there! I was six years old when I ran away! You don't know what I've done!"

"No, I don't. That's why you must tell me."

He had to make a decision. "Tomorrow," he said. "I'll tell you tomorrow. I mean, if there is a tomorrow, here."

"There is nighttime, and there is sleep." Rosenda smiled. "There is much of the day to come. I could tell you my past, just to pass the time."

"No." Morro forced himself to relax. "I'm going to try sleeping. I haven't done it in fifty years, after all."

"A midday nap? Understandable. I will join you."

"Okay."

He lay there awake, waiting for his mother to fall asleep. Eventually, when he thought it was safe, he got up. Rosenda didn't stir until the door opened.

Morro heard her calling his name as he ran through the field. He didn't look back.

* * *

He wasn't a ghost, in the Departed Realm. He was dead, obviously, but maybe, in this realm where everything was dead, it doesn't matter if he was dead, too. His hands were flesh and blood, or some emulation of it. He couldn't phase through things.

Water didn't hurt him, as he learned when he stumbled into a stream. Morro stood there in the ankle-deep water for a few moments before climbing up the bank and continuing to run.

Eventually, he stopped.

His path had taken him into a forest. Morro sat on a fallen log and looked around. It was dense, and there were no signs of animals or bugs, no smell of rotting leaves. What kind of afterlife was this? Experimentally, Morro dug through the first layer of dry leaves on the ground, and then the next, and then the next. He never reached dirt.

He was still digging, reaching his arm in up to his shoulder to scoop out more leaves, when he heard Garmadon's voice.

"Are you ready to talk now, Morro?"

Morro launched himself backwards, over the log. Garmadon grabbed his arm before he could right himself to run.

"Listen," he said. "I don't need to force you to stay. I am perfectly willing to keep following you for as long as it takes, but I believe it would be better for both of us the sooner we talked."

"What do you want from me?!" Morro yelled. "I know what I did to Lloyd! Do you want me to apologize?! Because it's a little too late for that!"

"You know, Wu never told me he had a son."

The words felt like a knife to the gut. The only thing Morro could think to say was, "Why?"

Garmadon shrugged. He let go of Morro's arm, and Morro made no move to run. "Who can say? One day, he'll be dead, too, and we'll be able to ask him for ourselves… but I only learned of you when I arrived in the Cursed Realm."

Morro said nothing.

"Perhaps he was ashamed. He was training you to defeat me, after all. I was always doomed to be the great evil that must be defeated." Garmadon sighed. "My brother has made a number of mistakes in his life, but that doesn't change that I consider you my nephew."

Morro got to his feet.

"Please don't run again," Garmadon said.

"I'm not," Morro snapped. "I'm just standing."

Garmadon nodded and sat down on the log. A few moments passed in silence, with Garmadon sitting and Morro standing. Finally, Garmadon cleared his throat and spoke.

"When Lloyd was eleven," he said, "fate forced him to grow up much faster than I ever wanted him to. He never got to have the childhood I wanted for him. I tried to protect him as best I could, but in the end… there was very little I could do. And now I'm dead, and it will be a very long time before I see him again."

"So what?" Morro said. "There's nothing I can do about that."

"Morro, sit with me."

He patted the log next to him. Morro rolled his eyes and sat.

"Morro," Garmadon said, "I don't know what, if anything, is supposed to happen now that we're departed. I don't know if there is a God to judge you."

He smiled and placed a hand on Morro's back.

"But there is me."

Garmadon shoved Morro forward.

The hole he had dug in the leaves wasn't big enough to fit him, and yet, Morro tumbled down and down into it. He landed on his back, and before he could stand up, a heavy sheet of leaves fell onto him, pinning his lower body.

"What are you doing?!" Morro yelled.

"Judging you," Garmadon said simply. "I've never been perfect. I wasn't the son my father wanted, and I wasn't the father my son wanted. Maybe when I died, the evil in my veins returned to me… or maybe this is how I've always been."

More leaves piled down onto him. Morro spat one out of his mouth. His arms refused to move.

"I won't leave you here forever, of course." Garmadon looked down, his head blocking out the light from the surface. "At least, it won't be for me to decide. No, your grave will be sealed with a magic that only a child of mine can break."

"You mean –"

"If he's anything like his grandfather, Lloyd will live for some three-four hundred years, but he will die eventually. When that day comes, he can decide for himself whether to free you or not."

"You said I was your nephew! Doesn't that mean anything?!"

"It means that once again, I am pit against my family. At least, this time, it's by my own hand, and not the hand of fate."

"What about my mom?!"

"Your mother will move on, just as she did when you ran from her in life, just as your father already has."

"I'm just a _kid!_ " Morro screamed.

"So was Lloyd," Garmadon said, and the next pile of leaves buries Morro's face, muffling his cries.

* * *

The Departed Realm was quiet.

Darkness weighed on him, crushing him under it's weight. Morro had long since stopped trying to struggle. There was nothing he could do. He could have regrets, remorse, sorrow for what he had done. He could wish he had never agreed to help the Preeminent, never tried to get revenge, never accepted the shrimp from the kind man in the monastery.

Still, there was nothing.

Except for him.

**THE END**


End file.
